Silver Sweet By Night
by Hermitt
Summary: Sent away as a baby to live with Muggles, it isn't until her seventeenth birthday that Hermione comes into her creature inheritance. Born a full-blooded Veela, Hermione's troubles just multiplied. Horcruxes, Harry and horny teenagers are just what she needs, but when a werewolf gets your scent it's for life, and things can't help but heat up. Veela!Hermione/Werewolf!Remus.
1. Prologue

This story is not affiliated with or endorsed by J. K. Rowling or any of her publishers or licensees. It does not imply or claim any rights to her characters or creations.

Harry Potter is a registered trademark of Warner Bros.

* * *

_Somewhere on the western edge of France, 1980_

Albus Dumbledore stood still as he looked out over the Channel. It was a still night in summer and he was eager to return home soon; the Potters and Longbottoms had just had their babies. Albus smiled faintly at the thought of the children. Even in these dark times there was still such light. Though the new lives had to be born to such horror, Albus had hope that the children, like all their generation, would grow up in a peaceful world. The Dark Lord would be defeated and the good would return to encompass their lives.

Two distinct '_pop_'s sounded behind the man and although he didn't tense at the sudden sound, he was still alert as he turned around. Relief flooded him as he took note of the couple, knowing no Polyjuice Potion or spell could duplicate their appearance. Breathtaking was the word to describe them. Tall and slim and positively gorgeous, the two ethereal beings before him made even the great Albus Dumbledore take a moment to compose himself, their charm almost tangible. He strode towards them, his face unsmiling though not unkind, and stopped metres before the pair.

Both parties were equally silent, watching the other. Quietly assessing and drawing conclusions from their posture, expressions and perceived intent, each seemed to then accept what was before them and previously straight backs relaxed.

"Dumbledore," greeted the man, his Bulgarian accent thick.

"Andrei," Albus replied, bowing his head slightly in respect, his smile light and curious. "Is this the newborn you mentioned to me?"

Andrei turned slightly to angle his body closer to the woman holding the child by his side.

"She is almost one now," the woman spoke strongly, but not rudely, in a slightly faded but still quite pronounced Greek accent. "She is strong, Professor Dumbledore," she added, frowning sternly at the older man, as though he had doubted it.

Albus smiled at the beautiful creature and her child, stepping forward and crossing the bridge between them.

"For the child of two Veela, I have no doubt," he agreed with her, stepping close enough to look down into the blankets at the sleeping infant. "Why have you asked me here?"

"For protection, Professor Dumbledore," Andrei responded. "Our daughter is not safe in the mainland but she would be with you."

Albus frowned gently at the hopeful couple.

"You must know of the situation in Great Britain at the moment, my dear Andrei, Aphrodisia. It is not safe for anyone, let alone a baby girl."

"It is safer than here where the Guild may take her," Aphrodisia affirmed, not cowed by the darkness permeating Britain.

"It may not be, Aphrodisia," Albus continued to stress. "Voldemort is more powerful than any dark lord we've seen in centuries. To place such a strong creature within his reach is unwise. That is not even touching upon allowing her to be in a country as intolerant towards magical creatures as mine."

"Then place her with muggles, I do not care, just keep her safe," Aphrodisia snapped angrily in a suddenly powerful Greek accent. Her fierce temper emerged in a show of flashing ice blue eyes as she barely contained her fury.

"Until she comes of age she will pass as a normal witch," Andrei intervened, stepping close to place a calming hand on his wife's back. "You can do much for her until then."

Albus sighed at the couple before glancing down at the bundle in the woman's arms. She was sleeping, the little one, and her hair brown until she came of age, disguising her true nature. She was such a sweet thing, so innocent. It was a pity yet another child had to be pressured by and thrust into darkness that should have rightfully and justly belonged to and been resolved by their parents. The softly breathing child stirred slightly as a light wind picked up and burrowed deeper into the blanket, the white-gold head of the man turning to glance at her in paternal concern, absentmindedly shifting her blanket further up her body to rest under her chin.

"Please, Albus," Andrei begged, turning his blue eyes on the elderly man. "Please take her and keep her safe. Until she comes of age."

The bearded man looked between the two. The Veela woman stood stoic and proud, a faint scowl on her face as if daring him to refuse and if he did, she would unleash her rage. The Veela man, on the other hand, stood patient and blank-faced as he waited for the wizard's response, having pleaded with the Englishman enough to last him a lifetime, even if it was to protect his own child.

Albus finally looked to the child and sighed.

It would be a long sixteen years.

* * *

_Hogwarts grounds, 1994, fourteen years later_

The wolf ran at breakneck speed through the dark woods, hunting. The howl, the howl had called to him and he could not refuse. Such a sound, such a call; it connected with the deep part of his soul. He knew that howl like he knew his own. He'd never heard it aloud before, of course, but the resonance had slipped past his defences, through his hunger and his fury, past the human mind asleep within his own, and aligned with him. It was not a wolf, though, he knew that. It was convincing enough to fool one of those humans, but never a wolf's ears, and definitely not his.

Paws pounded rhythmically against the forest floor, pine needles and twigs crunching beneath and rocks flung behind him as he ran. The chill in the air permeated even his thick coat and he knew it was unnatural. Steam poured off the powerful creature as he ran faster and faster, closer and closer. By now he could hear their little footsteps as they ran, too. The chill grew stronger as he grew closer to both his prey and those soul-sucking creatures. The anticipation manifested within him as the heartbeats he sought became audible, their quick, panicked pants sending him toward frenzy. He was so close. He could hear them clearly now and the smell, the smell was so strong.

He skidded to a stop in the clearing, using his sight to search them out. They were here, he knew that; he could still hear them. For the life of the wolf, though, he could not see them.

_Snap._

The wolf stalked his prey, listening for their breaths, their heartbeats, sniffing deep their scents into his lungs and cataloguing them in his mind. He curved his body as he prowled around the tree, listening to their cautious footsteps back. Then they were within reach and he emerged for them to see. The growl in his chest intensified as he saw them, saw the one who called him so desperately. The smell from her was intoxicating. Like the sweetest of meals, the most intense of mating calls, the greatest of pleasures, the most demanding of creatures; the wolf wanted nothing but to please her and prove to her he was worthy. He wanted to be accepted by her.

He stepped forward, the growl growing ever louder as the pup-almost-grown possessively held his creature. He wouldn't stand for that, he couldn't. She had such a sweet scent, such a sweet, appealing, intoxicating aura about her. She was perfect, though that scent was dulled; he doubted the humans even knew she was so special. But she was, and he would continue to stalk her until he had her.

His focus was interrupted by a beast charging the clearing, slashing his muzzle and screeching into his sensitive ears. His growl was louder now, menacing as he demanded the other creature back off. The horse-bird beast did not and continued to slash. With one last look at the man-child and the sweetly scented young female, the werewolf fled the clearing, howling his outrage, displeasure and longing to the moon.

He refused to let his hunt end this night. He would have her. She was his.

* * *

Voila! There is the prologue. I hope it was enjoyable. This is a teaser, I suppose, to see the kind of initial response a creature story like this would get. Fair warning, I have an idea only of where I want this to go, but go it shall, and the rating will definitely go up. Now, reviews, anyone? I would love 'em, I most definitely would. Until the next chapter, readers of mine!

Hermitt


	2. Beauty Too Rich

Hermione Granger sighed heavily from where she sat on the plush armchair by the fire. She rubbed her temples, the pounding headache forcing her to lack concentration in her studies. The cramps in her stomach ensured she remained hunched, in the hope of alleviating some of the pain with pressure, and her overall state of fatigue had forced deep shadows under her eyes.

"Hermione, you really don't look well. Go to bed early tonight," Harry said concernedly, watching as the older girl wiped sweat off her upper lip and nose again.

"I'm fine, Harry, this Charms homework is almost done," she protested weakly, wincing as a flare of pain exploded in her abdomen.

Harry frowned at her in a very stern way. "Hermione, go to bed." He didn't try and plead with her anymore, Hermione noticed; she must really look as terrible as she felt.

"I just want to finish this last sentence," she continued stubbornly, ignoring Harry's sigh of exasperation. Finally finishing her entire paragraph and not just the sentence she was asking permission to write, Hermione tiredly packed away her supplies and stood shakily to her feet.

"Hermione, maybe you should go and see Madam Pomfrey," Harry said warily, watching the time it took his friend to get steady on her feet.

"I think I will, Harry," she agreed with him, too easily, really, "but not tonight. I'll go in the morning; maybe I just need to sleep it off."

"O_kay_," was the drawn-out response. Harry had noticed her rapidly deteriorating health for the past couple of weeks. Ever since they'd gotten back to Hogwarts she'd seemed unwell. This past week it had just intensified to the point where if Hermione didn't go and see the matron, he'd go and get her himself. "Night, Hermione," he called after her, frowning in worry as she forgot to even say goodbye.

"Oh, goodnight, Harry, sleep well. Tell Ron the same when he comes down," she faintly called to him, only half turning around to bid him farewell.

"Sure, rest up," he frowned, watching her shuffle up the stairs. "Hey, Ginny," Harry called to the redhead on the other side of the room. The girl perked up at her name and walked over to the worried young man.

"What is it, Harry?" she frowned as well, noticing his turmoil.

"It's Hermione, she's still not well. I was hoping you could go and check on her a bit later. I would myself, but, well, I'm not allowed up there."

"She's not getting any better, is she?" Ginny asked rhetorically, plopping down in the seat next to him. "Sure I'll check on her a bit later, it's no problem. How are you?" she changed the subject, taking note of his own haggard appearance.

"I'll survive," he grinned weakly. Ginny was about to say something more when they both heard the telltale thumping of Ron Weasley coming down the stairs.

"I'll talk to you later," Ginny smiled, reaching over to give his arm a squeeze before standing up and returning to her friends.

Harry watched her walk away before a tall, lanky redhead dropped himself onto the couch in the precise spot his sister had just vacated.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked, a frown on his face as he glanced around the Common Room.

"I sent her to bed," Harry replied.

"Still not feeling well, then?" the ginger deduced.

"She's only getting worse, Ron. I don't know what it is."

"Has she seen Pomfrey yet?"

"She said she would tomorrow," Harry reluctantly responded, obviously of the opinion the meeting should happen sooner rather than later.

"It's a bit different worrying about her, isn't it? Usually it's you," Ron spoke conversationally, reaching over for his Transfiguration textbook. "Who would have thought, eh? Maybe it's just the flu."

"Yeah, maybe."

* * *

Hermione was not getting any sleep tonight. After Ginny had come in to check on her and forced her to put her Potions homework away, the brunette had only been tossing and turning all night. Not for the first time that night she threw off her blankets and spun onto her side, curled into a ball. Perspiration had soaked into her pillows and sheets and then frozen her to the bone when the sweats turned to chills. Overall she was feeling utterly exhausted, as well, and was deeply regretting not going to see Madam Pomfrey when Harry had suggested it, regardless of the late hour.

Hermione turned over again, grimacing at the pounding in her head. Life obviously hated her right now and the feeling was mutual. She groaned quietly to herself, knowing the hour was closer to sun-up than sun-down. Promising herself she'd go and see Madam Pomfrey immediately that morning when the sun was finally in the sky, Hermione eventually forced herself into a very disturbed yet surprisingly deep sleep.

Absently, before she succumbed, she remembered that today was now her seventeenth birthday.

* * *

Hermione awoke to muttering from her dorm mates.

"Can you believe it?"

"I wonder who cursed her."

"You're calling that a curse? What's wrong with you? If that's a curse then I'll take it with a smile."

"Yeah, that's true, but still."

"What are you two muttering about?" Hermione huffed at them, the pillow held tightly under her head.

"Hermione, you've been cursed or something. You look completely different! We wouldn't have known it was even you if you didn't have all your homework with you while you slept," Parvati commented, still peering at the young woman whose new blue eyes opened groggily.

"What are you talking about?" she asked to clarify, immediately glancing down at herself and staring in shock.

"It looks good, Hermione, much better than before. I think you should keep it," Lavender told her honestly. "You look like a Veela!"

"A what?" Hermione intoned dumbly, taking hold of the long white-gold hair around her shoulders and staring at it in fascination. "Let me see," she interrupted the girls, pushing off her sheet and getting agilely to her feet.

Hermione made the short trip to their bathroom, taking stock of how she was feeling physically. Her head still ached and she felt slightly hot, like she was recovering from a fever, she noted. Other than that, Hermione had to admit to herself she didn't feel like she'd been cursed. On the contrary, Hermione felt strong and agile and genuinely good.

Stepping in front of the floor-length mirror, Lavender and Parvati close behind her with wide, fascinated eyes, all three girls studied the image before them.

The first thing Hermione noticed was that she was now taller than both girls by several inches. It came as a deep shock, considering that she had previously been several inches _shorter_ instead. It took a moment for Hermione to glance away from their significant height difference, but it wasn't hard when there was still so much more to inspect.

Hermione was clinical in the assessment of her situation. Whoever had decided to curse her obviously didn't have anything sinister in mind. She was beautiful. Hermione was hard pressed thinking of another person she'd seen who she could say was more beautiful than her appearance now. The part-Veela she'd spent part of her summer with, Fleur Delacour, was close, there was no question about that, but not quite. Thoughts of Fleur immediately made her think of the Veela she had seen at the Quidditch World Cup before fourth year and Hermione admitted she would put this cursed form on par with them. Her hair was white-gold and her eyes a beautiful crystalline blue, clear like a Mediterranean sea. She was tall and slim and curvy and Hermione found herself envious of this perfect creature staring back at her. Perhaps her attacker had the intention of making her aware of her physical flaws in an attempt to bully the admittedly sensitive girl, something somewhat sinister after all.

Mission accomplished, Hermione thought bitterly.

"Finite incantatem," Hermione snapped, swishing her wand at herself and watching as the form in the mirror remained the same.

"It didn't work," Lavender noted needlessly. Rolling her eyes in frustration, noting how Parvati did the same, though in amusement instead, Hermione turned back to look at her body.

"I'd better go see Madam Pomfrey, then," she sighed, taking one last glance in the mirror before turning away.

* * *

It was still an early hour so Hermione, with the much too curious Lavender and Parvati, managed to leave the Common Room without much notice except from a couple of plotting second years who didn't pay them a glance. The unlikely trio made their way through the empty Hogwarts corridors, Lavender and Parvati casually chatting to each other and only halfheartedly attempting to bring their dorm mate into the conversation. Hermione walked along resignedly, wondering what being Harry Potter's best friend would lead to next. Midnight duels, mountain trolls, three-headed dogs, Devil's Snare, bewitched chess sets, logic puzzles, basilisks, escaped convicts, werewolves, invasive reporters, evil Ministry hags, Death Eaters, Voldemort and now an apparently ordinary curse. Hermione thought it was a step down from what she was used to. At least it didn't seem to be as lethal as the things she was accustomed to happening to her, she thought morbidly.

The trio stepped off the staircase leading to the Hospital Wing and all three quickened their pace. There was a mixture of anticipation, excitement and curiosity thrumming through two of the girls. Hermione felt nothing more than irritated resignation.

They stepped into the Hospital Wing, pushed open the doors and glanced around for anyone. Seeing no one, Hermione made her way towards Madam Pomfrey's office.

"Madam Pomfrey!" called Parvati loudly. Hermione immediately cringed, spinning around and hissing at the young Indian and covering her ears. Parvati stared at her wide-eyed as she processed Hermione's reaction before the newly blonde witch spoke.

"Must you be so loud?"

"Sorry," she responded, Lavender glancing between the two with shocked eyes.

"It wasn't really that loud," Lavender muttered to her best friend as they watched the tall, lithe young woman storm away from them in a sudden mood. "Maybe this curse triggered her period or something, too. She's seriously moody right now."

Parvati nodded, still feeling the sting of hurt but slowly rising indignation all the same.

"Whatever," she huffed.

Hermione finished her walk towards the matron's office and raised her fist to knock on her door. Before she could, however, the door steadily opened to reveal the elderly woman's slightly cross face.

"Yes?"

"Madam Pomfrey, it's me, Hermione Granger. I need you to reverse this," she gestured to her body, watching as the woman's eyes looked her clinically up and down before she opened the door the whole way and stepped out.

"Right then, Miss Granger, over to the bed, please," she instructed, ignoring the fact she was still in her sleeping attire.

Hermione was grateful to her professional attitude and did as she asked, stepping up to the closest bed and lifting herself up to sit on it, confidently swinging her legs.

Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrows at the girl's comfortable display. Previously the child had refused to be more than the most polite of guests whenever she visited the infirmary, even when she was a patient. Now she reclined on the bed like she owned it.

"This will take a moment," Pomfrey informed her, stepping up and removing her wand from her robe with no theatrics whatsoever. Without any preamble, the matron waved her wand and released her incantations to the space between the pair.

Lavender grew bored reasonably quickly as the witch continued her checkup. Her eyes returned to studying the changed Hermione Granger instead. There was no denying the stab of jealousy she felt at the older girl's appearance. It didn't matter if it was from a curse or not. Lavender was your average teenage girl and felt a stab of envy when she saw a creature more beautiful than she could ever hope to be. Parvati, alternatively, was watching Madam Pomfrey carefully. The elder woman was clearly growing very disturbed. Her professional face had adopted a pucker between her brows and her mouth had pinched as she cast more and more spells, their incantations growing so complicated Parvati swore even her smarty-pants sister wouldn't have a clue what the medi-witch was saying. With one final swipe of her wand and a golden light emanating from Hermione's skin for a moment before fading, the medi-witch lowered her instrument and stepped back to observe the girl.

"What is it, Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked, sitting forward and frowning at the woman.

"Miss Granger, if you wouldn't mind waiting a moment, I'll just be in my office. I'll return momentarily," the matron said before turning around without waiting for a response and leaving the three young witches on their own.

"Is that normal for her to just walk out?" Lavender asked, stepping forward and hopping up to sit next to Hermione on the bed.

Hermione glanced at her in slight surprise for her initiative to sit so comfortably with her before she returned her gaze to the door.

"No."

Parvati opened her mouth to comment as well but was interrupted by the office door opening again and Professor Dumbledore following Madam Pomfrey out.

"Professor!" Hermione exclaimed, unaccustomed to being the one to get the headmaster's attention. "What's all this about?" she demanded, frowning at the two older people, adding a 'sir' as Dumbledore raised an amused eyebrow at her pressuring sentence.

"Miss Granger, I was hoping I could speak with you in private."

"But sir!" Parvati cried, stepping forward and desperately wanting to know what everything was all about. "She's our friend. We want to make sure she's okay!"

Hermione glanced at her in shock as she called her a 'friend' but allowed her to make her request.

"Please, sir, we just want to know she'll be in – in class or something today," Lavender added, grinning at Hermione as she snorted at her fellow Gryffindor's apparent concern she wouldn't be able to make classes.

"While I appreciate your dedication to your housemate, Miss Patil, Miss Brown, I must make this request. Breakfast is being served in the Great Hall right now. I'm sure you'll enjoy the selection. I, myself, am quite fond of the grilled tomatoes," he told them conversationally. They both opened their mouths to protest again, the headmaster raising yet another amused eyebrow at them before Hermione interrupted.

"Actually, if you could tell Harry and Ron where I am I'd appreciate it," Hermione told them, watching their shoulders slump.

"Fine."

"Okay then."

"Enjoy your Thursday, girls," Dumbledore smiled at them as they glanced over their shoulders and walked away, waving his non-blackened hand as they left. Hermione refrained from thanking them for attending her to the Hospital Wing, however. While she knew they were somewhat concerned for her, she remained pessimistic that they were following her for a good bit of gossip more than friendly concern. Turning her head back to the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione hounded in on him immediately.

"What's wrong with me?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing and having no concern that she'd suddenly taken leave of her senses and been disrespectful to the headmaster.

"Manners, Miss Granger," Pomfrey warned her, knowing exactly what was happening to the girl but not willing to tolerate disrespect.

Dumbledore seemed even more amused than before, if anything, and spoke affably to her.

"Nothing is wrong with you, my dear. If anything, I would say something has gone right. I know you appreciate a straightforward approach, Miss Granger, so allow me to be candid," he said, noting her suspicion grow and those familiar blue eyes narrow, her mouth pinch and fists clench the blanket beneath her. "Today is your seventeenth birthday and a day that marks you reaching your majority in the Wizarding World. You are aware of the many species of magical creatures throughout Europe and the world, I'm sure. Many of these creatures are born as their parents are. Centaurs birth centaurs, mermen and women give birth to children who look like miniature versions of themselves. There are few magical creatures that are not born with the traits of their parents or their species. Werewolves, for example, require a bite, or an infection, to physically change. Veela, on the other hand, mostly full-blooded Veela, are not born as the beautiful creatures you will find in your books. They are, in fact, born appearing as ordinary witches or wizards. It is not until they reach their majority, or their seventeenth birthdays, that they finally appear as they truly are. Miss Granger, you are a full-blooded Veela. This is why you have changed appearance. You are now as you truly are."

Hermione sat still as she stared at the man. His blue eyes were twinkling but she felt no mocking from him. She couldn't doubt him, either. This was Albus Dumbledore. He had no cause to lie to her about something such as this. Thoughts whirred inside her head but all that came out of her mouth was one single question.

"It's permanent?"

"Yes, my dear girl, it is."

Hermione stared in shock at the matron and headmaster.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore began but immediately stopped.

Hermione had fled the room.

* * *

Thanking you all very kindly for the great response to the first (less than) 1500 words! I was so giddy when I kept getting all those emails telling me you'd favourited/followed/reviewed. I have now responded to all reviews and I want to thank those who reviewed again especially. I'll admit I'm greedy. I want to see that review count go up.

I hope this chapter was enjoyable! Note that Hermione's birthday, as per Rowling, is 19/09/1979. The 19/09 in 1996 was a Thursday. I also want to give fair warning that our favourite werewolf will not be making a face-time appearance until Christmas break (which, really, is only less than three months away). Rest assured, however, I already have great cause for the future 'M' rating for then written.

Thanks again, everyone! I can't wait to hear what you thought of this update. Take care!


	3. A Grief To Part

Harry and Ron left dinner running. They'd barely been able to keep themselves sitting there and even the usually ravenous Ron had barely touched the overabundance of food.

Hermione had been missing all day.

She hadn't been at breakfast, she hadn't been at lunch, she wasn't at dinner and, if that wasn't cause enough for concern, she hadn't been in class at all. Lavender and Parvati had told them about the curse, "it's not _really_ a curse, it can't be", and the hospital wing. When the boys had spoken to their Head of House, she'd been very uninformative and the headmaster himself had just told them to "give Miss Granger her own time. She'll return when she's ready".

Harry and Ron didn't want to wait any longer. They didn't want to give Hermione her own time. Their friend was suffering from a curse – Harry suspected Malfoy's involvement – and had run off without telling them a thing or even a "be back soon". The adult witch had taken leave of the school because she wasn't even on the map.

They were very worried.

Harry and Ron ran up the stairs, into the boys dormitory, and slammed the door behind them.

They had things no good to do and some mischief that needed managing.

* * *

Hermione was quiet. While this was not an unusual thing for the young woman per se, especially when she was reading or studying, the witch had no books in front of her, no quill in her hand and no professor to listen to. She sat on a couch with her knees pulled to her chest as she stared blankly into the soft flames of the hearth.

There was so much new information to process, so many new concerns. She was a magical creature and by birth. Her muggle parents had been keeping her apparent adoption from her all this time, and so, apparently, had the headmaster. He'd obviously known all along about her heritage and said nothing to her, failed to prepare her for the physical effect or the emotional impact of discovering this new life.

Hermione's new arms tightened around her new knees and her new eyes narrowed at the flames. Betrayal most keen flushed through her alien body as she thought about it all.

Objectively, Hermione would have thought that not having the knowledge of her change and being so unprepared would have offended her the most. Now, though, living the truth for herself, Hermione knew that she hated being lied to her whole life more than anything. She'd become a Gryffindor for a reason. She was emotional, admittedly reckless and, hell, she knew she was courageous. She wasn't just some cold, calculating, knowledge-driven machine. She had feelings, she had very sensitive feelings, and they'd been crushed, beaten and abused by some of the people she'd trusted most.

The tears she'd been holding back finally escaped her eyes.

Hermione sat alone and cried.

* * *

"Why wouldn't you tell the child, Albus? Tell me why you would keep something of this magnitude from her!"

Minerva McGonagall was not a happy witch. She stood in the office of her dearest friend and colleague, watching in escalating fury as he casually made himself a very sugary cup of tea. He heated the water with a flick of his wand, allowed the teabag to infuse the water, added his sugar, stirred his cup, removed the teabag and smelled the steaming liquid. With a patient smile at the infuriated woman, he raised the cream, poured it in and set it down, stirring his tea again.

"Albus!" McGonagall snapped.

"It was for her safety, Minerva," he told her, taking a delicate sip of his sweet drink.

"For her safety?!" She stopped her pacing to glare at the old man. "Like it was for Potter's own safety he be put in an abusive muggle home?!" she raged.

To his credit, the headmaster looked somewhat contrite at her comparison.

"Now, Minerva, these situations are quite different," he attempted to explain, but the lioness would have none of it.

"Both have been forced to endure Voldemort, both have ridiculous expectations thrust upon them for ones so young. They have both been _lied to_, Albus, for their entire lives. The destiny you finally told Potter he had and Granger and her Veela ancestry. I saw the evidence of Potter's hurt at being lied to, I saw this office! How would a Veela, a young Veela with no control over herself, respond to this revelation, do you think? She'll tear the next person she sees apart!"

Albus gazed at the professor steadily.

"I have more faith in Miss Granger than that."

"This isn't about faith, Albus!" McGonagall argued heatedly, her arm thrust out to the side in a sweeping motion to emphasise her point. "This is about you and your perpetual secrecy! I can only imagine Granger's emotional state at the moment. How did you expect her to react to this discovery? Was she supposed to laugh and step right into her new role with nary a question why?"

"Miss Granger is a highly intellectual individual who—"

"She's a Gryffindor, Albus!" McGonagall exploded. "Have you become so out of touch with your own childhood memories, with your own House? You know how Gryffindors behave. Granger may have a near genius-level intellect, but she remains a young Gryffindor woman all the same. I've seen her after she's been bullied or in the hospital wing. That girl has a deeper well of emotion than most other students her age and much more than some of the teachers I've seen _you_ hire over the years."

"It makes her a wonderful companion for Harry, doesn't it?" Dumbledore commented, smiling quietly at his friend.

"It – yes, it does, but my point remains valid, Albus," McGonagall insisted. "You did the wrong thing keeping this from her," she summarised, her disapproval clear. "And from me," she added, hurt.

Albus Dumbledore looked at the protective McGonagall a moment in contemplation.

"Perhaps I overestimated her coping capabilities, Minerva. You raise valid points. It is unfair of me to expect so much of one so young. I know that," he conceded.

McGonagall sighed heavily.

"Yes."

"This upcoming war will force her and all the others to leave behind their childhoods, though, Minerva. In fact, I fear they already have. Especially young Harry. I can't save them from the horror of war," he admitted quietly. He looked more tired and vulnerable than McGonagall could remember seeing him in a long time. Her heart ached at the sight of the tired old man.

"I know, Albus," she murmured, the fight going out of her as the looming war became their focus. "I suppose I'm just trying to preserve their innocence for as long as I can, even if it is a losing battle. Perhaps it's already been lost."

* * *

Harry and Ron stood outside the Room of Requirement. It had occurred to them as they'd been poring over the map that they'd never once seen the Come and Go Room on it. The revelation had caused the pair to yell at themselves for their obliviousness. They'd dashed out of the portrait hole so fast they'd knocked Neville over backwards.

They'd arrived not seconds ago, still hunched over and panting after their sprint. Before they could recover, though, Harry was already pacing the length of wall three times, wishing for the place Hermione was hiding.

Nothing happened.

"What are the right words, Ron?!" Harry demanded in frustration. He was desperate to get to his friend.

"I don't know!" Ron shot back, his frustration as clear as the red splotches on his cheeks from his previous exertion.

"Think," Harry growled, repeating the word in his head over and over again. Where would Hermione want to go? What was she thinking at the time? Why was she hiding—?

It occurred to Harry all of a sudden that Draco Malfoy had been disappearing off the map, too.

"Ron! This must be where Malfoy's been coming, too!"

"You're thinking about Malfoy _now_?" he cried disbelievingly.

Harry frowned but didn't say anything.

"Well, what do we know?" Ron began, pacing himself now.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, Hermione's usually pretty collected, right? When she isn't she goes to the library because she doesn't like her roommates too much," he said, Harry raising his eyebrows at how apparently observant Ron had been of Hermione. He let Ron continue. "But she wasn't in the library, so she doesn't want just anyone to find her. She needed an escape for some reason, right? So maybe—"

"Ron! You're a genius!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, grinning wide and running the length of the wall in his eagerness.

"I am?" he asked, bewildered. It was a rare occurrence when somebody referred to him as a genius with absolutely no sarcasm in their tone.

"She wanted somewhere she could _escape_!" Harry shouted from the other end of the wall, racing back down towards Ron with his smile.

It dawned on Ron, then, and his freckly face stretched in a grin.

A door appeared before the boys. They shared a moment of triumph, eyes bright with victory as they gazed at each other. Stepping forward, they opened the door and walked into the unknown.

* * *

Hermione heard a door click open and was up on her feet before it had come halfway. For a brief moment she contemplated hiding, and a screen appeared behind her to assist, but she stood her ground and watched as two familiar figures burst into the room.

"Hermione!" they cried simultaneously, their heads frantically scanning the room.

They noticed her almost immediately.

It was not the reaction she'd been hoping for.

Ron's face went slack as he saw her, his eyes glazing over. Harry dropped his jaw and the eyes behind his glasses filled the frames.

Hermione's heart sank.

"Hi," she tried, hoping they'd pull themselves together.

She was hoping in vain.

"H-hi," Ron responded dumbly. He snapped out of his insecurity in a moment, however, and proceeded to strut over to her. Harry, not to be outdone, hastened over and stepped past Ron.

"Hi, I'm Harry, Harry Potter. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, did you know?" he grinned, stepping close to gaze at her standing a couple of inches above his height.

Hermione froze. Frustration prickled over her skin like a disease.

"That's nothing! I'm the keeper for Gryffindor and the best keeper in our team's history. If I wanted to catch a snitch through a keeper's hoop I'd do it easy!"

"I'm the best broomstick rider in the world! I could beat anyone on any professional team," Harry shot back.

"No, you couldn't! I could, though. I can play any position. I could be my own team up against the whole Quidditch World Champion side and beat them without them scoring a point!"

"I've faced Voldemort, you know. He's terrified of me. I don't really tell many people this," he said, leaning towards her darkening face conspiratorially, "but it's my destiny to defeat him. When I do, I'll dedicate my victory to you!"

"ENOUGH!" Hermione screeched, her teeth pulled back from her lips in a snarl. "Shut up! It's me, Hermione! Get a hold of yourselves, would you?"

"Hermione?" Ron echoed, curiosity passing across his features. "I've always thought you were beautiful. I've saved your life plenty of times, too!"

"That's nothing! I've saved her life more! We're a great team, aren't we Hermione? You and me against the world."

"Hermione, I can prove my devotion to you! Just let me—"

Hermione had enough. Their sudden fawning over her made Hermione furious, now that the hurt had been replaced. Distantly, she knew that they couldn't help themselves. When a Veela danced they were almost entirely irresistible. At close range their charm caused men to invent wild exaggerations of their skills or lives in an effort to impress them. It was manageable for men to resist a Veela when she wasn't actively luring them in, but these two hormonal teenage boys had been unprepared when they'd seen her and had almost no self-control to speak of.

Those excuses registered in Hermione's mind but her temper dominated any reason she could have employed.

In a moment, Hermione screeched a very Veela sound at the boys. As the sound came out of her mouth it elongated into a sharp beak. Large, scaly wings emerged like a piston from her back and dwarfed the previously cosy size of the room. Fire appeared in her hands and she threw it furiously at the stunned young men. Blue eyes flashed purple in the light of the flames and an inhuman shriek left her bird-like mouth.

* * *

The giant fireballs coming at their heads woke Ron and Harry up a little bit. Watching the flames come towards their heads, both pairs of eyes almost bulged out of their respective sockets. Ron stood still, frozen as he watched the flames. In a moment of clarity he registered what had just occurred and panicked. As heat assaulted his chest he felt a body collide with him and bring him to the ground.

Harry listened to Ron's scream of pain as he raised himself off of him. He'd tackled the older boy to the ground, seeing his stiff form and shocked eyes. He'd utilised his famous reflexes to dodge the fire coming at him and shot towards his best friend.

Harry frantically slapped his hands against Ron's chest in an attempt to reduce the flames eating away at his sweater. A fire blanket suddenly dropped down from the air above them. Before it had even landed on Ron's body, Harry had snatched it out of the air and slammed it down on him. He needed to muffle the flames.

Another cry from a creature he didn't recognise sounded behind him. Harry grit his teeth and snarled back.

"If that really is you, Hermione, then help me save your best friend's life!"

He immediately focused again on Ron who was attempting to curl in on himself, the flames still eating away at him. His sweater had a giant blackened hole in the centre and his skin now lay vulnerable beneath it. Harry didn't understand why the flames only grew smaller and did not entirely disappear.

"Come on, Ron, come on!" Harry pleaded with his friend, watching in mounting pain and anxiety as his friend cried on the floor. Apologetically, Harry looked to the ginger and spoke. "You need to get to the hospital wing, Ron. Come on," he said, and attempted to lift his friend off the ground. Ron cried out in agony and tried to curl in on himself again. With a great heave, Harry pulled his friend up to swing his arm around his shoulders, securing his other hand around his waist.

Immediately another set of arms came around the crying young man and pulled him tight against her body to support his greater weight.

Harry glanced at her, his friend now without a beak or wings but with fresh horror in her eyes. He grit his teeth once again and turned his gaze away from her beautiful face.

"Come on, Hermione," he pushed out and the pair of them began the trek to the hospital wing. Hermione was an emotional wreck the whole way.

* * *

My reviewers are the most beautiful people in the world, thank you so much! I can't wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter, too.

Personally, I hate a crying heroine, especially Hermione, but at the same time I think it would be completely out of character for her right now if she _didn't_. I hope it doesn't bother anyone. I promise with all my heart the tears will not be a regularly reoccurring thing. *shudders* So help me; never.

One last thing. This chapter jumps around a bit more with POVs than the last. Does that bother some people? I didn't want to have one of those chapters that focuses entirely on the main character and their emotional turmoil for all (roughly) 3,000 words. I find those to be easily dull and didn't want to risk that myself. Hopefully the extra action has kept you entertained.

Thanks again and until next time!


	4. What Light Breaks

Hermione sat alone once again. The hospital wing emitted nothing but white noise to her as she sat still on the bed. Her knees were curled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs tight. It was slightly dim, her little space, due to the curtains around her bed being drawn. There was also not much to look at, so the young Veela sat staring at the bedcover beneath her tightly coiled body.

Hermione was still in a state of shock at what she had done. Her tears had dried but left behind a horrified numbness. It infested her entire body, her being, and made her seek solace alone. She couldn't face the others yet. She couldn't.

Ron was hurt. The fact that she had lost control of herself and used lethal force against one of her best friends made the young woman feel sick to her stomach. She'd dry heaved when she had seen his red-raw skin, the burns disfiguring his upper torso. It hadn't taken long for her to realise what she'd done in the Room of Requirement. It had taken even less time for her to rush to help her damaged friend. The flames had still been devouring his body as she and Harry had stumbled out of the room, Ron jerking and whimpering and crying in their grip. Fortunately the flames had stopped shortly after leaving the seventh floor corridor, but the evidence of the hot violence kept their friend crying in pain.

That had been roughly an hour ago. His parents were here now, sat by his bedside as he slept. They hadn't come in to see her. No one had. She couldn't blame them, though. Hermione deserved to be left alone for what she'd done.

* * *

Harry Potter sat slumped in a chair, staring morosely at the floor. The bed beside him had its curtains drawn and a silencing charm placed upon it. He didn't need to hear to know that Mrs Weasley was crying, however. He didn't need the charm to know that Mr Weasley was attempting to comfort his wife. He didn't need any of that to know that Ginny would be sitting beside her older brother, concerned and quiet. He didn't want to know that Ron was still unconscious.

Not for the first time he wondered how they had come to be in the infirmary, in this situation. Harry didn't know. His and Ron's desperation to find their friend had soured so quickly. The triumph they'd felt, knowing they'd been successful in finding her, became a blurry emotion after they'd opened the secret door. He recognised the influence of a Veela from the Quidditch World Cup two years ago and more recently Fleur, when he had stayed at the Burrow over the summer. They'd laughed about the Veela influence then, and the girls had teased the boys for their infatuations with the creatures and especially Ron's fondness for Fleur. Now things had changed. The matron had informed him what had happened to his best friend in a concise, single sentence and then attended to the redhead. When the Weasleys had arrived and seen their boy, Harry had glanced towards the one responsible for his plight. She'd backed away from Ron, terrified to get too close but unwilling to leave him alone. As soon as the matriarch of the Weasleys had understood what had happened and let loose a wail, however, the tall, blonde-haired Hermione had fled behind a curtain on the other side of the infirmary, tears in her eyes.

Harry was ashamed to find that he didn't want to go and see his female friend yet. He didn't know if he could face her just yet, having seen with his own two eyes what she had done. Ron was well attended to, he knew that. Hermione, though … Hermione was all alone and no doubt scared. Things beyond her control had dominated her life all of a sudden. Her life had been turned upside down by this new revelation and Harry cringed because he knew what that was like. Hermione had lost her temper and lashed out; not unlike his temperament last year, he grudgingly accepted. She'd hurt their best friend, though, and he'd gotten his godfather killed. All the secrecy and hurt that had been accumulating after the death of Sirius had left Harry feeling bitter and intolerant to any and all secrets. He was hurting and hating and Hermione had just hurt their best friend.

Harry sighed as he stood up from his chair.

He knew the right thing to do. The hard part was doing it.

* * *

"Hermione?" Ron mumbled, slowly regaining consciousness. He heard a cry in his ear then, and felt plump arms wrap around his neck and knew they didn't belong to the girl he'd called for.

"Oh, Ron! Ronnie, my baby! How does it feel? Are you still in pain? Madam Pomfrey! Madam Pomfrey, hurry, he's awake! Oh, Ronniekins!" Mrs Weasley cried, peppering kisses all over her son's gradually reddening face.

"Mum, stop!" he demanded, stretching his neck and trying to avoid the affection.

"Molly, Ron would probably like to get his bearings before you smother him, dear," Mr Weasley easily cajoled his wife, smiling as she tearfully nodded and pulled away, though not releasing her boy's hand.

"Hey, Ron, how ya feeling?" Ginny asked gently, uncurling herself from the chair directly next to his bed.

Ron began to shuffle himself up on his pillows and winced at the tightness all over his torso. Mrs Weasley immediately shot forward to help him up, fluffing his pillows as best she could as the mediwitch entered their space.

"Sore," he responded finally, watching as Madam Pomfrey chose to walk around to the other side of his bed and avoid a confrontation with his stubbornly situated mother.

"You will, too, Mr Weasley; for another day or so, at that," she informed him, brusquely flicking her wand over him, nodding and summoning some potions to her.

"What happened?" he demanded, feeling nauseated as she unstopped one of the vials and a smell not unlike the flobberworm dung from his third year permeated their curtained-off area. "Wait, what happened to Harry and Hermione?" he cried, trying to sit up straighter. He hissed at the sudden intensification of the pain; his mother quickly began to gently pat his hair down in an effort to comfort him.

"Mr Potter is currently with Miss Granger in another section of this infirmary," she told him, pouring two fingers worth of the dark green potion into a cup and handing it to him. "As per what happened, Mr Weasley, you were hit with Veela fire straight to your chest," she told him professionally, watching as he gagged on the drink but consumed the entire contents under the stern looks of his mother and the matron.

"Veela fire?" he huffed out, pulling a face at the cup as it was taken away from him.

"Miss Granger has recently discovered her Veela heritage, Mr Weasley, and on her birthday today became one. Unfortunately for you and Mr Potter, you discovered her when she was emotionally unstable and aggravated her into partial Veela rage. She deeply regrets what happened," Pomfrey added, watching the family out of the corner of her eye as the youngest two looked shocked, worried and curious about this development. She frowned lightly at the angry gleam in their mother's eyes but was reassured by the understanding in the father's. Before they could reply to her, however, she continued. "You will be as well as you were this morning, Mr Weasley, just as soon as you take your final dose of potion in twelve hours time. Until then, you are to stay in this bed until I tell you otherwise, am I clear?"

Ron clearly wanted to ask more questions but settled on nodding his understanding and asking just one.

"Can I see them?" he asked hopefully, his blue eyes wide and pleading. Madam Pomfrey knew immediately who he was referring to. She briefly admired the young man's loyalty to his friends without fully understanding the situation and chose to reward his attitude.

"Of course, Mr Weasley," she told him, one corner of her mouth tilting up as he slumped in relief. "However, not yet, I'm afraid. I don't want you moving for another hour, at least, and Miss Granger is in no condition to see you yet. I will, however, inform her and Mr Potter of your wishes."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Ron smiled tiredly at her, shifting down on his bed and wincing only faintly at the pain this time.

"Not at all, Mr Weasley. I'm sure Mr Potter, at least, will be by momentarily to see you awake."

* * *

Harry Potter cleared his throat just by the curtain of Hermione's bed.

"Er, Hermione?" he called quietly, listening for any sound on her side and hearing none. "Hermione, can I come in? I'd – I'd like to talk to you," he began, waiting for a response. Harry hadn't realized how stiff he'd been standing until a quiet but affirmative response came from behind the curtain and he slumped in relief.

Harry took a deep breath. He made his best attempt at controlling his mind, remembering how he'd reacted to Veela in the past. Releasing the air in his lungs in an exhale that left him feeling loose and in control, Harry breathed again and hesitantly pulled back the curtain to slip inside.

Harry immediately went stiff upon laying eyes on his best friend again. She was sitting directly in the centre of the bed and watching him cautiously. Although Harry could remember what she'd looked like back in the Room of Requirement and slipped looks at her on the way to the Hospital Wing, he was still arrested by her newfound beauty. Harry swore he was going to lose himself in her crystalline blue eyes. He admired the way her long, white-gold hair hung thickly around her shoulders and caressed her arms and back. He couldn't help but admire the rest of her body, how perfect it was, how full and beautiful, even though her legs were curled up and her knees tucked to her chest. He took a step forward and opened his mouth, his glazed eyes trailing back up her slender arms to her face and stopped himself. Her eyes were shining with new tears and her chin was trembling ever so slightly as she watched him react to her. She suddenly loosed a loud sniff and Harry sprung forward.

"Oh, Hermione. I'm so sorry," he whispered, sitting on the bed in front of her and pulling her into a hug.

Hermione released a sound that was half sob and half laugh as she responded to him.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" she sniffled. "I'm the one who almost killed Ron!"

Harry shushed her and rubbed her back.

"Tell me what happened to you," he said.

* * *

"How is our Mr Weasley doing?" Professor Dumbledore asked as he entered Ron's space. He watched the gentle rise and fall of the young man's chest before looking towards the rest of his family.

"As well as can be expected," Mrs Weasley sniffed unhappily, turning her gaze from her sleeping son to glare at the headmaster. "If Hermione was so dangerous, why was she allowed free run of the school where anyone could come across her?" she demanded hotly.

"Mum," Ginny frowned at her, disapproving of the perceived attitude her mother now had towards her friend.

"Molly," Mr Weasely admonished her with her name alone. Mrs Weasley glanced away, then, avoiding eye contact with anyone, but her husband continued. "Hermione is going through a very difficult time. She had no prior knowledge of this transformation and is more scared, no doubt, than you are giving the child credit for. She may be seventeen now, Molly, but Hermione is still a child; a very confused, terrified child," he reasoned, rubbing her back soothingly.

Mrs Weasley stubbornly watched her son's face, Dumbledore watching hers. Mr Weasley waited patiently and rubbed her back twice more before her shoulders slumped and her gaze fell down.

"I know, Arthur," she murmured, glancing over her shoulder before turning to their son again. "I just don't want to lose him."

"This war is making many people blind to the small things, my dear Molly," Dumbledore stepped in closer to the group, following a tangent in their conversation only he seemed to realise was there. "The trick is remembering what makes you happy," he said, "and making sure you relive it every day your mind grows dark," he twinkled. "Now, I must speak with Madam Pomfrey. If you will excuse me, Molly, Arthur, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore smiled and left them alone.

"Let some light in, Ginny," Mr Weasley said as the Headmaster left, gesturing to the curtains around the bed. Without a word, Ginny stood up and opened the hangings, a relieved smile forming on her face as the setting but still persistent sun lit up her ginger hair and warmed her freckled skin. It was the small things, the headmaster had said. Ginny could appreciate that.

"There now, Ron, get some sun on your face. You'll feel better," she told her sleeping brother, settling back into her chair to take time with her family.

* * *

It wasn't long after Headmaster Dumbledore had left the group of Weasleys to go and speak to the nurse that the Veela came in through the infirmary doors like a queen. Sharp blue eyes immediately spotted the aged headmaster and her feet led her quickly towards him. Mrs Weasley's eyes narrowed at the intruder. It was subconscious, how she felt threatened, but her body automatically positioned itself closer to her husband and son. Mr Weasley himself seemed to stare a long moment at the woman, his eyes glassy, before his head snapped away from her and he took a purposeful breath. Ginny watched the newcomer warily but remained where she was.

"Dumbledore!" the Veela spoke sharply to the wizard, coming to a halt next to him not far from Madam Pomfrey's office.

"Aphrodisia. It's been a long time," he responded, smiling lightly at the creature.

"Too long! Why was I not permitted access to your floo this morning? I was to be here for my Hermione's seventeenth birthday," she hissed. Her sleek white-gold hair seemed to ruffle like feathers with her ire.

"Aphrodisia," Dumbledore began, smiling in an apologetic manner, "I am afraid these are dark times that we live in. I am shocked my owl did not reach you in time detailing this development."

"Owl?! You would send an owl to tell me this?" she exclaimed.

"Who is this, Albus?" interrupted Molly Weasley, each hand holding tight to her youngest son and husband respectively. Ginny continued watching cautiously from her seat next to her brother's bedside, but her eyes repeatedly glanced toward the only other occupied bed in the infirmary where she knew Harry and Hermione had situated themselves.

"Forgive me, Molly," Dumbledore excused himself. "Please allow me to introduce Mrs Aphrodisia Ognyanova," he smiled, gesturing at the impatient woman. "She is an ally of ours from the eastern part of the mainland," he elaborated.

"Your ally no longer, Dumbledore, if you do not take me to see my daughter," she hissed in her thick Grecian accent, ignoring the red haired family watching her suspiciously.

"Of course, Aphrodisia," Dumbledore agreed, smiling and gesturing for her to follow him. He walked leisurely toward the curtained-off bed, his magenta robes swishing lightly with his steps. Aphrodisia, on the other hand, walked stiffly, though no less gracefully than ever before. It was apparent that her impatience was substantial.

"Professor, what's going on?" Harry asked, stepping out from behind the curtain, looking to the adult Veela and feeling no less of a pull than he had with his best friend. With the beginnings of practiced ease, however, Harry tore his eyes away from the stormy woman. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the young man.

"This is Aphrodisia Ognyanova, Harry," the headmaster explained. "She is Hermione's birth mother and here to see her."

"What?" Harry asked sharply, new eyes gazing at the stranger. "I don't think it's a good idea right now to see Herm—"

"Nonsense!" Aphrodisia interrupted him, stepping past Dumbledore and towards the curtain.

"I agree," spoke Hermione, pulling the curtain open and stepping next to her friend. She gazed levelly at the Veela woman who abruptly stopped walking to stare at her daughter. "I have some questions."

Aphrodisia muttered something then in Greek, watching Hermione with a bird-like gaze, her voice soft and even motherly.

"I imagine you do, Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke, smiling at the grouping like nothing was amiss. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable in my office," he suggested, stepping aside in invitation.

Both Veela watched the other, neither choosing to blink. Harry glanced at Hermione worriedly and grabbed her hand in comfort. The action jarring the young woman somewhat, Hermione broke gaze first, looking to her friend. A message then seemed to pass between the two; Harry nodded, stepping back.

"I'll stay with Ron," he said. Hermione gave the boy a tight nod before she turned back to the now composed older Veela.

"Shall we?" the headmaster spoke.

Both Veela followed without a word.

* * *

I do apologise for not updating yesterday. I got sick Friday night and all over the weekend. I still am sick, actually, this Tuesday, but I could let you wait no longer. Thanks again for the reviews! I've responded to all I could now, and to those guest reviewers or those who had disabled the function, I'm no less grateful to you!

Rest assured, as well, that time skips will be coming. I estimate (very roughly, at this stage) that we'll be seeing dear Remus Lupin within ten chapters. I know some of you just want to get to the romance, and I would too if I was reading this, but I really want it to parallel canon. Realistically speaking, the trio don't see Remus until Christmas break. I plan to follow this schedule, but I might pop in some Remus perspective before then. Would that keep you satisfied in the meantime?

Thanks again!


	5. Thou Wilt Fall Backward

"What do you think they're talking about?" Ron asked his friend. Harry sighed and looked toward the infirmary doors again with trepidation.

"Probably why that Veela woman abandoned Hermione when she was a baby," he muttered testily, the reality hitting close to home. Harry didn't understand why a mother would give up their child. Family was the most important thing in the world and should be to everyone else, especially a new mother. The fact that Hermione now had to deal with the realisation she was adopted and had been lied to was something that made Harry's blood boil. No one should have to feel abandoned by the people they were supposed to love. The fact it was his best friend that was the victim made him even more furious.

"I still can't believe this is happening, though," Ginny added, glancing towards the matron's office where her parents were privately speaking with her. "Hermione was a muggle-born for years. Now she's a magical creature, let alone like _Phlegm_?" She shuddered. "When does that happen?"

Ron huffed. "I don't know why you keep calling Fleur that, Ginny. She's great and Bill loves her so why can't you just be happy for them?"

"You can't be serious, Ron," Ginny argued heatedly. "She's a nightmare!"

"Look, this is about Hermione, not about Phleg- er, Fleur," Harry corrected, though he smiled back at Ginny when she noticed his slip.

"You're right, Harry. Hermione's going through some tough stuff now. We've got to be there for her," Ron agreed easily, rubbing his chest absentmindedly. "But did you see the way she looked?" he added, unable to resist not commenting. His eyes didn't glaze, per say, but there was a definite hint of grogginess as he thought about her.

Ginny and Harry exchanged a look. They both remembered how Ron had treated and reacted to Fleur over the summer at the Burrow. The comical image of him sprawled at her feet in the dirt came to mind and Ginny made no attempt to suppress her smirk at the memory of her foot sticking out and tripping her brother when he'd rushed to say goodbye to the part-Veela, hoping to get a kiss like Harry had.

"She's still the same old Hermione, no matter what she looks like," Harry said firmly. Ginny nodded, frowning down at her brother now. He was hopeless when it came to pretty women, let alone ones as beautiful as Veela. Ginny hoped he'd be able to behave himself with his best friend.

* * *

Hermione took her time adjusting herself in the seat she was offered around the headmaster's tea table. Unfortunately, there only being three of them, Hermione could not escape sitting next to the Veela stranger. She smoothed out any creases in her jeans and watched out of the corner of her eye as the tall, willowy woman sat herself regally on the bright magenta chair. Dumbledore himself seemed quite at ease in his faded yellow and orange polka dotted, squishy chair, and set about preparing a teapot without prompting. Hermione was waiting for the headmaster to speak, to break the tension and start whatever this was going to be, as he always did. She was surprised, therefore, when Aphrodisia spoke first.

"Hermione," she began, turning faintly to better face her daughter. She ignored the headmaster as he tapped the pot with his wand, his crispy, blackened hand remaining hidden beneath the sleeve of his robe.

Hermione didn't say anything in response, she merely attempted her best not to glare openly at the blonde creature. She was sure she wasn't overly successful.

"As I have come to understand it," she continued with her pronounced Greek accent, "you are entirely unaware of your heritage." Aphrodisia figured it would be most prudent to settle the facts before she began an in-depth discussion with her daughter. Looking at her now, she was filled with a deep warmth and pride. How long had she waited for this day, to see her child again? It was too long, far too long, but necessity dictated it. She had wanted to throw in the towel so many times and abandon her efforts on the mainland. She knew, however, that it was for the best if she didn't. Too many people relied on her. This sacrifice, though, meant that she was forced to miss her beautiful baby girl grow up into the stunning Veela she always knew she would be. Aphrodisia had wondered every day of the past sixteen years if it had been worth it. She had never been able to settle on an answer.

"No," Hermione finally said tightly, noting the pause. Aphrodisia nodded as though she wasn't surprised.

"It was for the best," she told her assuredly, though she felt nothing of that on the inside. "I am from Greece, originally, and your father Bulgaria. We have both been involved in what is essentially a civil war for the best part of two decades. Before you were even born, threats were made against you. For your own safety we made arrangements to remove you from the mainland and the reach of our opposition, to place you in relative safety here, in Britain, until you were mature enough to know the truth and handle it responsibly," she informed her succinctly, pausing to accept a cup of steaming tea from Dumbledore and level her daughter with a blank look.

Hermione had to hold her tongue as the temptation to swear at the woman became almost overwhelming, only half-aware of the cup she accepted, too. Who was this woman to tell her about some far-off life? The betrayal she'd felt earlier, but had softened as she spent time with Harry, came back in one powerful swoop after the woman had finished speaking. Hermione didn't understand anything, and if there was one feeling she hated most in the world, it was not understanding something.

"Why would you bother coming here to tell me this?" she breathed hard, doing her damnedest to keep her cool. "I don't understand," she said, forcing the statement out, "I don't understand why – I don't understand any of this!" she exploded, slamming her freshly received teacup onto the table and ignoring the way it smashed and the hot liquid poured out, staining the decorated tablecloth. Dumbledore remained silent and cleared the mess with a flick of his wand. This caught Hermione's attention and she spoke over the Veela who had opened her mouth to respond. "And you!" she exclaimed, turning hateful eyes on the professor. "Why wouldn't you tell me anything? I almost killed my best friend! All because you wouldn't tell me anything!" she cried, hot tears stinging her eyes, some spilling over. She kept her fists clenched tightly and sprang up from her seat to pace the office. She was a tightly coiled spring, a lioness ready to strike. She was frustrated and depressed and furious and humiliated, all in one. How could something like this happen to her?

"Miss Granger," began the headmaster.

"Did my parents know?" she barked at him. "Do Norman and Kathleen Granger know about this? What I am, who she is," she said, throwing her arm out in the direction of the only other Veela in the room, ignoring the way her jaw ticked in mounting ire, "did they know any of it? Besides you two and my Bulgarian 'father'," she said it sarcastically, her body vibrating in anger, "how many people knew and didn't think to tell me? I still can't believe this!" she threw her arms up into the air and removed herself another several metres from the pair. She was breathing hard.

Aphrodisia moved to stand and follow her daughter but Dumbledore held out his healthy hand to stop her.

"Let her be for the moment, Aphrodisia," he murmured to her, his peripheral vision noting the way Hermione's lip curled up at his words in a silent snarl. He doubted she was even aware of how frightening she looked.

"I know how to handle my own daughter, Dumbledore," Aphrodisia snapped at him, her own lip curling in a suddenly very familiar way as she brushed him off and stood up. She stepped around the chairs she and Hermione had been occupying but did not step closer to her.

"What do you know about me?" Hermione countered, her shoulders tense and her back rigid as she paced agitatedly. Her blue eyes shot ice at the woman. "You know nothing about me, have had nothing to do with me, and now you suddenly want to step in and take the role of my mother?" Her eyes were incredulously wide, the sclera glowing monstrously in the candlelight. "Well, guess what? _I already have one_!" she roared, scaly wings emerging from her shoulders, her shirt ripping, and her head transforming into a formidable looking bird's head with a very sharp beak. The next sound out of her maw was a piercing shriek and twin balls of fire appeared in her hands, the nails now sharp and poised to strike.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore murmured to himself, watching the young Veela flap her wings angrily and knock many of his possessions onto the floor, his beard tickling him in the sudden breeze.

"Hermione," Aphrodisia said sternly, stepping forward and halting as her daughter hissed threateningly at her. Her frown deepened. "You are a fresh Veela, yes, but you are acting like a child. Stop this at once and calm yourself. You have self-control. Use it," she ordered, standing tall and unafraid in front of the fully-transformed Veela.

Dumbledore observed the way the shorter, angrier Veela twitched at the elder's words. The beady pupils in her golden eyes on either side of her feathered head contracted as she focused her gaze on the woman. The Harpy-like creature hissed a long, low sound at her.

"Hermione," Aphrodisia continued, her face twitching as though she couldn't decide whether to keep it straight or allow emotion to filter through. It was not something she was entirely accustomed to as of late. Relenting, a certain stern softness entered her light blue eyes and she opened her palms to her daughter but did not step forward, still wary of her renewed fury. "I will answer all your questions, Hermione Granger," she told her, ignoring the ache she felt at calling her daughter by a different last name, "but you must calm your manner and regain control of your fury. You cannot repeat what happened to your friend," she said, reminding Hermione of the consequences of losing control.

There was more hesitation on Hermione's part; she hissed again at her biological mother and twitched her bird head to the side, her wings flapping uneasily and all her muscles taut. Hermione's fingers flexed. She took a step forward and the previously large fire in her hands petered down to light flames, as though she was calming but unwilling to relinquish her weapon against the unknown. Aphrodisia was honest with herself when she felt the sting of disappointment. Her child didn't know her and that was a heart-breaking fact, but she clearly felt very strong dislike for her and that hurt more than she could express.

"Miss Granger," spoke Dumbledore from his seat at their tea table, smiling sympathetically at the winged young woman and her mother, "perhaps a butterbeer will do you nicely," he said, the beverage immediately appearing on his tea tray. "Ah," he said, feeling the tall glass and placing it where her ruined teacup had previously sat, "perfect temperature," he smiled.

Aphrodisia turned away from the old man, tempted to sneer at him, and gazed softly instead as the light blonde feathers receded into the skin of her child, the large dragon-like wings receded back into her shoulders and the furious gleam left her now Andrei-blue eyes. Aphrodisia felt her gaze soften further as she watched her child's eyes adopt a patience she was familiar with her husband possessing and ignored the pang of heartache that accompanied the thought of him.

"Fine," Hermione allowed, the word not said disrespectfully but almost tiredly, as though the emotional strain of the day had finally gotten to her. "Fine; let's talk."

* * *

"I don't know about this, Arthur," Mrs Weasley muttered to her husband, glancing around the library shelves as though afraid of being caught. She had the same awareness she used to possess as a teenager roaming these stacks of books. Of course, back then the awareness had been in regards to the librarian at the time and the less-than-scholarly activities she and her now-husband used to get up to in the dark, deserted aisles. "We can just pop by Flourish and Blotts for all this," she insisted.

"Now, Molly, it doesn't hurt to get an early start while we're here for Ron," Arthur responded, expelling a sound of victory and pulling down a slim book. "This will be perfect for the boys," he smiled, passing his irritable wife the book.

"Well if what Poppy said is true, then we won't need to worry about pressing them to read it just yet, will we?" she huffed, reluctantly taking the book.

"Molly," Arthur said warningly, turning to face his short lover. She looked away from him and glared at the shelves.

"No, Arthur. You saw what she did to Ron. You saw how much he hurt. You saw—" she sniffled, remembering the crispy flesh of her son's torso, the red, raw burns decorating him like some perverted canvas, and the way that he'd screamed. "You saw him, Arthur," she choked.

"Oh, Mollywobbles," was all he said, stepping forward to embrace his distraught wife. The book fell to the floor, forgotten.

* * *

Hermione sipped her butterbeer slowly, holding it with both hands and indulging in the warmth that seeped through her body as she drank. Her cheeks were slowly losing their flush from her previous burst of anger and she was settling herself back in her brightly blue and turquoise chair. Aphrodisia and Dumbledore were conversing between each other as they served themselves more tea, but Hermione paid them no mind for the moment as she stared numbly at the decorated tablecloth. The full moon and bright stars were pretty, she thought.

"Miss Granger," interrupted Dumbledore gently, his eyes soft and somewhat fond as he gazed at her lost expression.

"Yes, sir?" she asked. Dumbledore noted the respectfulness he was accustomed to regarding Hermione Granger returning with her obvious emotional exhaustion.

"Perhaps it would be best if we adjourn for the evening and return tomorrow to continue," he suggested gently. "You have not had food today, I do believe." Two pairs of similar but differently shaded blue eyes shot sharply to him and he marvelled at the synchronisation.

"I'm fine, Professor," Hermione said firmly, sitting up taller in her seat. "Let's begin."

Dumbledore smiled at her stubbornness amusedly but waved his wand and a tray of turkey sandwiches appeared to compliment the tea tray. "Very well. I do believe it would be best for us to start at the beginning, as I find it a place most things may unravel with the most sense as we continue along," he agreed easily, winking at her hungry look as she eyed the sandwiches. "The best place, I would say, is to start approximately twenty years ago with the circumstances that led up to your British adoption," he said, looking towards Aphrodisia to continue.

Hermione took a sandwich and settled in for what was sure to be a long night.

* * *

Remus Lupin sat tiredly at the Weasley dining table, his head held in his hands. Today had been a long day. In fact, he reflected miserably, the past year had been hard, made even worse with Sirius's death barely three months ago. It had brought such grief to his heart, watching the best friend he'd barely had back disappear into that veil. The marauder was gone now, his last remaining friend from the good old days. He squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered those times. Their Hogwarts years had been the best of his life. He'd been so accepted, so loved; it was like he was just an ordinary wizard and Remus coveted those memories like he did nothing else, though he avoided thinking about the rat whenever possible. Hogwarts had kept them in a little bubble of obliviousness; they'd all been unaware of the cruel, harsh reality of the world outside their castle. Remus admonished himself yet again for forgetting what the real world was like when he'd revelled in Hogwarts and selfishly took the love and acceptance of his best friends as a youth.

"Hey," came a soft voice and Remus glanced up to see Tonks standing on the other side of the table. Her mousey brown hair and solemn demeanour only made him feel gloomier.

"Hi," he responded, knowing it would be rude not to. They'd gotten to know each other after Sirius had died. She'd been so distraught, knowing that it had been her battling Bellatrix Lestrange before Sirius. She had been plagued by 'what if'. What if she hadn't stopped fighting her; what if she had finished her off? It was survivor's guilt, Remus knew that; he felt it too. So he'd tried his best to make her see it wasn't so bad, even though he felt inside that it was only worse.

"How are you?" she asked him, pulling out a seat across from him and watching him quietly.

Remus shifted uncomfortably on his seat. He wondered what happened to the brightly pink-haired girl who could never decide what shape to keep her nose. Well, the war happened, he acknowledged.

"Fine," he grimaced before looking around with a light frown. "Where are Molly and Arthur?" he asked her, now realising why he'd been so undisturbed.

"They went to Hogwarts," she told him sombrely, still watching him closely. "I got off shift in Hogsmeade as they came through. Apparently Ron had an accident and was in the hospital wing. It sounded serious," she reflected.

"I hope he's alright," Remus frowned.

"Yeah. Hey, Remus—," she began but stopped as he stood up.

"It was nice talking, Tonks, but I'd better get going," he smiled at her gently and turned around to rinse out his teacup. He felt guilty for leaving so abruptly, but the lingering gazes she'd been sending him lately made him uncomfortable.

"See you around," she said, her shoulders sagging and her brown hair falling limp.

He smiled but walked out the back door.

He didn't look back.

* * *

Longest chapter yet. I had to cut out so much. I was originally going to have the whole Hermione/Dumbledore/Aphrodisia chat in this chapter but it just wouldn't fit. You'll see why next chapter. Then, stuck for the next couple of hundred words I decided to give you a taste of our beloved werewolf. I hope you liked! Just a quick note, too; I went back and revised chapter one, just regarding Hermione's thoughts on Fleur. I realised that she had spent several days over the summer with her so changed her thoughts from 'the one she remembered from fourth year' to 'the annoying Frenchwoman she'd spent the summer with', pretty much. I have also now fixed up (hopefully) all mistakes in the other chapters, too. Thanks again for all those reviews, including those of you I couldn't reply to! Such a shame, though; those who I can message a review reply are getting little sneak-peaks into future chapters ;) SPOILERS!

**IMPORTANT!**

Just to let you know, as well; I have two exams next week at university so I will most likely not update next Monday. I will be studying instead! …Most likely. Haha, wish me luck, anyway.


	6. Hear Me With Patience

Professor Dumbledore settled himself further into his seat, reaching out to take his teacup with his left hand and sip. His eyes closed in bliss at the taste and warmth, the effect the tea having on him very welcome. A moment later he turned to the willowy woman seated across from him and smiled at her.

"Would you like to begin, Aphrodisia?" he asked her, watching as she subtly shifted in her seat nervously. She looked to him then and squared her shoulders.

"Yes," she said, nodding in agreement, sitting taller and moving to face Hermione. Hermione thought she looked a little like she was going to face the Wizengamot with how formally she held herself. "You are aware, I'm sure, of the E.V.A.?" Aphrodisia began.

Hermione nodded slowly. "That's the European Veela Association, isn't it?" she clarified. Aphrodisia nodded.

"Yes. The E.V.A., or EVA," she said, using the colloquial term, "also known as 'the Guild', is, as you know, the representative body for Veela in all Europe. Approximately twenty years ago," she continued, her voice crisp and face blank, though inside she felt the stirrings of remorse, "a division between the members of EVA was established. A number of the Veela representatives were interested in disengaging themselves from the wizarding ministries in their respective countries."

"Why?" Hermione interrupted, the Hermione from before her change coming to the fore as the new knowledge presented itself. Aphrodisia smiled inside at her enthusiasm but chastised her for the interruption. It was not proper.

"Patience, Hermione, you may question me at the end," she said, her heart twitching as her daughter's eyes closed off slightly at her rebuke. Aphrodisia had the strong urge to clear her throat but refrained. She continued. "The International Confederation of Warlocks and each country's respective ministry was and is, naturally, against this move. They do not want us Veela to gain the power to be answerable only to ourselves, nor create our own government and laws. They were, and still are, of the opinion that we should be held accountable to wizard law," she said. Hermione could easily detect the derision and anger in her voice. "We are magical creatures, Hermione," Aphrodisia reminded her, looking at her almost sternly, intently, imploringly. "We are not witches or wizards; we are Veela," she said, pride making its way into her accented voice.

Hermione nodded a little uncomfortably at her sudden passion but willed her to continue.

"As I said, approximately twenty years ago there came a division between the Veela of the council," she said, her expression hardening. "EVA had reached a crucial stage in its governing after a particularly controversial case between a Veela and the East German Ministry; you may be familiar with it," she said offhandedly.

"No, I'm not," Hermione admitted, trying to think of a time she'd read something of the like. The look on Aphrodisia's face when her daughter told her she was unfamiliar with the event made Hermione wish she could take her comment back. It was clearly a very sensitive topic to the older woman and she straightened herself in her seat even more.

"Twenty-three years ago an East German wizard thought it was acceptable to kidnap and keep a Veela female for his own purposes," she said tightly, the flesh around her mouth pinched. "When she overcame him and fled, she was sent to trial in their ministry for grievous bodily harm to a pure-blood wizard. She lost the case and was sent to Nurmengard prison for the remainder of her life," Aphrodisa informed her, watching in grim satisfaction as Hermione's jaw dropped and an indignant flame leapt to life in her blue eyes. "It may have been the prison Grindelwald built to hold his opponents, but it came into use by the eastern European ministries after his fall."

"If I am not mistaken, Aphrodisia," Dumbledore interjected gently, reminding the two he was still present, "the wizard himself was sentenced to time in prison as well."

"He was sentenced to a maximum of ten years only, Dumbledore!" Aphrodisia snapped, her composed face crumbling as she glared at him, insulted and indignant that he would even think to defend the man. "That is not justice; that is leniency for a filthy little wizard who refused to keep his hands to himself and rode out of the way of retribution on his ministry's favouritism!"

"I merely wanted to point out that he was punished, although for a shorter period of time than he should have been," Dumbledore placated her, taking another sip of tea.

Aphrodisia made a noise much like a hiss before turning back to her daughter.

"Regardless of wizard opinion, it became shockingly apparent to many Veela that we could not place our trust in wizardkind," she continued. "There was a movement within the Guild to separate ourselves from the wizarding ministries in each of our respective countries. Not all Veela agreed," she said seriously.

Hermione was tempted more than she could express to ask her question and was sitting forward on her seat, biting her lip and bobbing her leg restlessly. Aphrodisia's mouth ticked upward in a tiny smile as she noticed her daughter's enthusiasm for the topic.

"You have a question," she stated, giving Hermione the floor. She pounced on it right away.

"Why didn't all of EVA want to make the split? And why was one case of prejudice taken as a wizard-Veela relations standard?" she immediately shot out.

Aphrodisia frowned.

"There were many cases of Veela prejudice before then, Hermione; this was not so sudden, I assure you. As for the opinions of the members, I cannot give you a complete answer. Though I have been debating with these Veela for many years and was on their side, once," she admitted, ignoring Hermione's curious frown, "I cannot tell you why many Veela still believe remaining intertwined with the ministries of Europe is a good thing. Admittedly, many believe they can work with the wizards to resolve our issues. I support this opinion, of course," she added, noticing Hermione's approval at the statement, and continued. "It is what would be best for us, Hermione, to work together. This is not the reality we live in, however. You must be familiar with, by now, the prejudice that exists amongst wizardkind for magical creatures. Not only magical creatures, of course, but amongst themselves, too. They are a very unreasonable race, we have found. It is very difficult to work with them."

Hermione was sorely tempted to continue her line of questioning but was more anxious to get to the nutshell of why they were sitting there in Dumbledore's office, late at night, drinking tea and butterbeer.

"So what does all of that have to do with me and why you gave me up?" she asked, feeling cruel satisfaction at the way Aphrodisia's eyes flashed with hurt at her offhanded statement. Hermione could have resisted, she knew that; she chose not to. Why shouldn't this Veela be punished for giving up her own little baby and forcing her through this life now? Hermione ignored the remorse she felt when the Veela siphoned all emotion from her face and continued.

"You were sent away for your own safety," Aphrodisia told her, turning away and taking a deliberate sip of tea. "Your father and I," she said, pausing just briefly before gaining confidence and making eye contact again, "your father and I have been prominent members of our movement for many years now, since before you were born. We are part of the independent movement. There are three general movements amongst Veela in total," she said, holding up her hand. "First there are the conservative Veela, who support no change to our wizard relations and wish to keep things as they are," she said, holding up one finger. "Second there are the independents, such as me and your father, who support an independent Veela governing body," she said proudly, drawing her second finger into the air. "Finally there are the factions known as the radicals," she said, slowly drawing up her third finger and staring at it darkly. "These are the Veela groups who are determined to separate from wizardkind – violently," she told her, turning to look at Hermione seriously. "It was this group that was threatening your life, Hermione. At the time, before they'd made themselves public, the group was using the conservatives to disguise their actions and signing off on their acts of terror to their rivals, including our family, as this group. It was around fifteen years ago when their group and their group leader finally joined the fight publically. They did so … loudly," she frowned, turning away to gaze at the hands now rested in her lap.

"How so?" Hermione asked, leaning forward despite herself. Aphrodisia remained quiet for a moment, her face still and grim. It was Dumbledore who answered for her.

"This group targeted a wizard-Veela conference in Greece, Miss Granger," he spoke softly, deep sadness in his eyes. "They killed a total of seven wizards and five Veela in their assault. Your grandfather was among them."

"Oh," she said, glancing back to the other Veela and feeling horror and sadness well up within her. She couldn't suppress the guilt she felt, either, as though her behaviour towards the woman was somehow related to the death of her father and personally offensive that way.

"It was a regretful turn of events," Aphrodisia spoke clearly, though her voice was softer and less fierce than before. "They are a violent, angry, ruthless group who have deluded themselves into believing they are doing all Veela a service by destroying what relationships we are able to build with the ministries of Europe. It makes it very difficult to persuade them to support our motion when, on one hand, we Veela are promising civility and, on the other, Veela are killing wizards. But they were the reason you had to leave, Hermione," Aphrodisia resumed the purpose of their conversation gracefully, turning her ice-blue eyes back onto her child. "They were not just attacking wizards, but Veela, too. They had made attempts on my life and your father's a number of times. When we realised we had conceived you, however, we did not want to risk the radical group succeeding in one of their attempts to be rid of us. So we sent you away," she said, keeping her face blank. Her eyes, however, shone sadly. Even Hermione could see that. "There was too much risk; we could have been betrayed by anyone and lost you. We would not chance that."

"What do they call themselves?" Hermione asked slowly, the emotion in the stranger's eyes making her prickle uncomfortably. "They can't just be 'the radicals', can they?"

Aphrodisia, surprisingly, gave her an approving look.

"No, they are not. They have styled themselves les combattants de la liberté; the 'freedom fighters', in English," she told her. "The conservative Veela have a separate name for themselves, as well; they call themselves the Veela's Interest Union. We are, that is to say I am," she amended, glancing at her daughter, "part of the Democratic Veela Alliance."

"Those radicals actually called themselves 'freedom fighters', after everything that they'd done?" Hermione asked, faint incredulity on her face.

Aphrodisia smirked.

"It seems a bit pretentious, does it not? Unfortunately their leader, Horace Chaput, is an arrogant Veela with a very loose moral code."

"Is that the man who wants you and me dead, then?" Hermione continued to question.

"He is the man that will do whatever it takes to secure his hold over the Veela of Europe," Dumbledore interrupted, watching as the young woman processed all the new information.

"But what was the purpose of the Guild, then?" Hermione asked, frowning in confusion, "Of EVA? That's what I don't understand; I thought that was the Veela governing body."

"No, Hermione. The Guild is essentially a house of representatives. Veela from every mainland country come together for discussion and if there is a matter most pressing – almost always regarding the wizards – a member is selected to present their case to the International Confederation of Warlocks or their respective ministry, if the proposal is passed by the council members," Aphrodisia responded. "Unfortunately, we must consult the wizards on most everything we do. Even private Veela matters must come under ministry creature law and regulation, the same that regard House Elves and Grindylows," she said, a more prominent expression of derision on her face than before. "Most other magical creatures have their own laws and governing bodies, may keep their traditions to themselves and resolve internal issues internally," she continued. "When it involves a wizard or witch, however, then yes, the ministry get involved, we accept that. But we want the same rights. We want to resolve our own problems within our communities. We do not need _or_ want wizard interference where it is most definitely not needed and most especially not wanted." Hermione thought this was beginning to sound like a campaign speech and not a clinical explanation of fact. She awkwardly avoided eye contact with the impassioned Veela and chose to ignore the way her eyelids suddenly drooped down in her exhaustion. Professor Dumbledore, however, chose not to ignore it.

"Miss Granger, it is very late and you've had a very trying day. I believe we've covered enough information for you to sleep soundly tonight. Perhaps it is time you made plans to go to sleep," he said reasonably.

Hermione appeared as though she would protest before she sunk down in her chair.

"I suppose," she said, standing up slowly. "I -," she stopped, looking unsure. "Can I … stay in the Hospital Wing tonight, Professor?" she asked quietly, her shoulders hunched in on herself. "I don't really want to have to go back through the Common Room tonight and have everyone stare at me right now," she admitted reluctantly as the headmaster only looked at her patiently.

"It would be best if you did not surround yourself with the students. Dumbledore," Aphrodisia said, turning to face the man, "what arrangements will you be willing to make for her for the next stage?" she asked.

"What do you mean 'the next stage'?" Hermione asked, frowning at the woman who had given birth to her, and sitting tiredly back down in her chair.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore began, his voice soft and supportive, "you have gained the appearance of a full-blooded Veela now, but you have not completed your maturity. You will need to spend that time away and focus on yourself, until you are fully matured."

"What are you saying?" Hermione asked, a sinking feeling taking hold of her gut and a new flash of anger spreading in her chest at the implications of what he was saying, her tiredness forgotten.

"It would be safest for both you and the Hogwarts population if you were to remove yourself from the castle – temporarily, only – until you achieve a certain mastery over your newfound nature," Dumbledore told her gently, expecting a negative reaction from the academic. He was not disappointed.

"No!" Hermione shouted in outrage, darting to her feet so quickly she was a blur.

"It would be for the best, just until you can learn to curtail your admitted irascibility and control your emotions more effectively," Dumbledore continued patiently.

"What? I can't – I won't – I -," Hermione was stuck for words.

"It would be best, Hermione. You may look like a Veela now, but you are still maturing," Aphrodisia interjected. "It will not be long until you finish the growth – a month, at best; a month and a half, at worst – but as soon as that passes you will be a mature Veela and have slightly more natural control than now." Aphrodisia's academic persuasion seemed to calm Hermione slightly with the facts, but she was still gobsmacked.

"I don't want to leave school," she said, her face twisting in beautiful heartbreak, fire still alight in her eyes.

"Hermione," the headmaster caught her attention gently, the familiarity of her first name pulling her up short. His own blue eyes shone with understanding and sympathy. "I am afraid Mr Weasley's incident goes to show that you can and will be a danger to the students at this school." He noted her eyes filling up with remorse and tears. "It is only until you fully mature. In only a month, Hermione, you will be back at Hogwarts as it was before," he smiled optimistically.

"But it won't be like before, will it?" she asked flatly. Aphrodisia and Dumbledore shared a quick look before the aged wizard sighed.

"No, my dear girl, I have no doubt it will be quite different."

Hermione nodded.

"I don't want to hurt anyone like Ron again," she said, slumping down into her chair. "Where am I supposed to go to 'fully mature'?" she asked helplessly.

"You may stay with my family in Greece," Aphrodisia began. "They would be delighted to have you. We have all missed you very much," she suggested hopefully, though her voice didn't express it.

Hermione frowned at the woman who was, despite being her blood, still a stranger.

"Perhaps Miss Granger would prefer to remain a little closer to home," Dumbledore interposed smoothly, smiling in understanding at the former brunette as she began to panic slightly. Aphrodisia frowned, feeling the sting of disappointment at his words, and turned to Hermione.

"Where would I stay if not at Hogwarts?" she asked, though more optimistically than before. "With mum and dad?" she asked, feeling only faintly guilty at the brief flash of emotion that passed over Aphrodisia's face as she addressed her muggle parents with such familiar terms of endearment.

"I do not believe that staying with muggles in your current state would be the wisest decision you could make," Dumbledore said softly.

"I want to see them, though," Hermione demanded suddenly, her eyes flashing fresh.

"And you shall," Dumbledore assured her immediately, "but muggles cannot help you with this, my dear."

"Who can?" Hermione asked, her confusion apparent.

"A Veela. My family are mostly all Veela. If you would permit to go to the mainland, then they could help you there and keep you safe," Aphrodisia attempted to persuade her again.

"I don't want to go so far away," Hermione emphasised, now scowling at her for insisting, the fire inside her relighting.

"You don't need to, my dear girl," Dumbledore said, suddenly cheerful. "We do, as it happens, have someone of Veela blood here in Britain. You are familiar with her as well, if I'm not mistaken. You did spend part of your summer with her, after all," Dumbledore smiled.

Hermione felt some blood leave her face and she resisted the very strong urge to groan – loudly.

"I do not see why Miss Delacour would not be willing to assist you. She does, after all, regard you as an extended part of the Weasley family, a family she will be marrying into within a year," he smiled genially.

"She is a Veela?" Aphrodisia asked, feeling a twinge of anxiousness at the obviously French name.

"She is a quarter Veela, my dear Aphrodisia," Dumbledore smiled, "but has enough knowledge to help our Hermione here, I'm sure."

"You want me to stay with Fleur?" Hermione desperately wanted to clarify, hoping against hope that there was some other Delacour Veela she'd spent the summer with that she didn't distastefully call 'Phlegm' behind her back.

"I do believe it would be for the best, yes," Dumbledore smiled brightly, as though the problem was solved.

Hermione was sorely tempted to reach across the space between them and throttle him. She didn't think Greece sounded so bad anymore.

* * *

There ya have it! The basics of why Hermione Ognyanova became Hermione Granger. There will be more regarding the Veela politics on the mainland, too; this won't just be all Harry-horcruxes-Remus Lupin lovin'. I do apologise for not updating on Monday, though. Fortunately I was able to let the majority of my reviewers know about it, but to those of you who have only favourited and/or followed, I want to apologise separately. I did forget to mention the extra exam I had this Tuesday and the assignment I had due in yesterday. But I now have a week to get my four textbooks read and my other assignment research article thingy written before it's due. So fun! Um, yeah, that was sarcasm. But anyway, I really hope to get back to regular updating. Keep your fingers crossed!

Anyway, what did you think of this chapter? I'm really anxious to know what you're thinking about this other plot – the Veela politics rife in Europe. Do you have a little more sympathy for Aphrodisia now? Do you still not like her? Are you curious to see where Horace Chaput (roughly pronounced _Sha-poo_) and his little freedom fighters will go? I'm curious, because I haven't figured it all out yet. So fun! (No sarcasm this time, I promise.)

Anyway, thanks again and do take care!


	7. Strike Quickly

Fleur Delacour giggled as she felt the mouth on her throat. They'd reclined on the couch of her apartment with the intention of casual conversation and relaxation, but that had quickly changed when she'd gotten the sudden urge to demand a kiss from the man she loved. He'd immediately obliged, of course, with a delicious smirk on his handsome face, and proceeded to make her toes curl at the affection they shared in their kiss. Things were beginning to heat up as she felt the slight stubble on his cheek graze her sensitive neck again. She sighed pleasantly at the contact. They had time for this, of course; they didn't start work at Gringotts for another hour, at least. As far as she was concerned, they had all the time in the world.

She felt hands underneath her thighs then, and he lifted her further up the couch so he could settle comfortably between her legs, his mouth lazily kissing down the arch of her throat. She curled her hand further around his head, into his long hair and was in the process of tugging his head up to hers when they both heard her Floo activate and a voice ask if anyone was home.

Fleur narrowed her eyes at the voice coming from the other side of her couch, a tick in her jaw at being interrupted. A chuckle escaped the man on top of her, albeit a slightly frustrated one, before he attempted to sit up.

"You need to let me go if we're going to see who that is," Bill half-grinned, indicating her legs wound tightly around him, his single fang earring swinging gently as he hovered above her. Fleur turned her glare on him, then.

"If they think we are not home they will go away," she snapped, slipping both arms around his neck. "So rude, these English, to put their heads through this early in the morning," she muttered with obvious irritation. Bill looked down at her amusedly.

"Thanks for that. What about the times I stuck my head through the Floo this early?" he teased.

Fleur sniffed. "We solved your rudeness; you moved in. It is not rude if you live here."

Bill chuckled again before darting down and pecking her on the lips.

"Coming!" he called to the Floo and smiled amusedly down at his fiancés pout. "Come on," he encouraged, finally sitting up and glancing over to the fireplace. "Professor Dumbledore!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide at the shock of seeing his old headmaster and current leader of the Order of the Phoenix in his fireplace. "What can we help you with, sir?" he asked, stepping away from the couch and holding a hand out to help Fleur to stand.

"Hello, Professor," she greeted blandly. Bill wrapped his arm around her waist and smirked at her less than enthusiastic manner. He led them both around the couch to kneel down before the old man. "What is it you want this early in the morning?" she asked bluntly, still clearly upset.

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled brightly at the young pair and they both got the distinct impression he knew exactly what he'd interrupted.

"My apologies for such an early call, Bill, Fleur, but this is a very important matter I wish to discuss with you," he smiled pleasantly.

"What can we do for you, Professor?" asked Bill curiously, engaging the man.

The sparkle in Dumbledore's eyes increased exponentially. Both the Weasley and the Delacour felt like they should have stayed in bed that morning at his look.

* * *

"Fred, George! You up yet?" Bill shouted into the deserted apartment above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Stepping further inside and closing the door, he chuckled at the sound of groaning and a thump coming from one of the rooms. Bill just knew it was one of the twins falling out of bed.

"What!" he heard one of them shout, purposefully loud grumbling following the statement as rustling was heard from both rooms.

Bill laughed again.

"Come on out, you knuckleheads, I need to talk to you," he shook his head amusedly, moving into the kitchen to prepare the twins a cup of coffee each. The boys had taken a liking to the beverage in the last year, saying it helped when brainstorming new ideas. Bill tucked his spare key into his pocket on the way to the kitchen.

"What do you want this early in the morning, Bill?" grumbled one of the twins, trudging out of his room in nothing more than his sleeping trousers, scratching his head and yawning loudly.

"It's eight o'clock; what were you still doing in bed?" Bill smiled. "Doesn't the shop open at eight-thirty?"

"We own it; it opens when we want it to," the twin grumbled, reaching over the counter to take the offered cup from his older brother. He took a sip and sighed happily, ignoring Bill's amusement. Something occurred to him suddenly and he frowned, turning around in his swivel chair. "Oi! George! Get up already, you lazy arse!"

There was a very dramatic groan heard from the other room then, followed by several curse words and a resigned thump. Fred smirked towards the room before turning back to his other brother.

"So what can we humble twins do for you, o' brother of ours?" Fred asked, taking another sip of his coffee and observing Bill. Bill leaned against the counter then and scratched the back of his head in a way very similar to how Fred had done upon exiting his bedroom.

"I need a place to stay for a while," he said bluntly.

Fred spat his coffee out and they both glanced over when they heard a thump and a curse, observing the way George then hobbled over to them, clutching his knee and cursing the placement of doorframes and how they should learn to accommodate people better.

"What the hell do you mean you need a place to stay?" George asked disbelievingly, his face a grimace of pain as he sat gingerly on the stool, accepting the other cup of coffee from his eldest brother.

Bill laughed at them both heartily and wiped a fake tear away from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, you boys should have seen your faces," he laughed, smiling down at them both.

"That's cruel, Billy-boy," Fred said.

"How could you tease us like that?" George asked.

"And here I was getting all excited –" Fred began.

"Thinking I might need to go over and give Fleur some special comfort!" George finished.

Bill smirked at them both.

"Over my dead body, boys," he told them darkly. "I get enough of that from Ron."

Fred and George grinned identical grins then and took synchronised sips of coffee, both sighing happily and smacking their lips at the same time.

"So is that all you came over here for, big brother? Or did you –"

"Have another reason for getting us out of bed this early in the morning?"

Bill grinned at them both in response.

"As a matter of fact, I was serious when I said I needed a place to stay," he said, continuing as he noticed their eyes widening at this, "but it's not for the reason that you're thinking," he added.

"What is it?" both twins asked at once, tilting their heads to the left at the same time.

Bill shook his head at them fondly before responding.

"You heard about Ron, right?" he asked. Both twins nodded.

"He got himself in the Hospital Wing again –"

"Didn't he?"

Bill nodded again.

"Yeah, do you know how?"

The twins shook their heads in the negative. Bill sighed and ran a hand through his tied-back hair. He dragged a seat from around the other side of the counter and sat down facing them.

"To get to the point, boys, Hermione did it," he said, the reaction he got not what he was expecting.

Both twins laughed.

"She finally wised up and put him in his place, eh?" laughed George.

"That's been a long time coming," agreed Fred. "What did she do –"

"Give him a good Bat Bogey like Ginny would've done?"

Bill couldn't help but grin with them.

"He's fine, thanks for asking," he said dryly, still smiling at the twins who just grinned at him innocently. Bill rolled his eyes. "I'll tell mum you were beside yourselves with worry," he added. "It was actually a little more serious than that," he then told them, becoming a bit more sombre. "Dumbledore was on the Floo to me and Fleur this morning because he needs a favour from us."

Fred and George both frowned.

"What has Hermione giving Ron one back –"

"Got to do with you doing a favour for Dumbledore –"

"And needing a place to stay?"

Bill sighed again.

"It was because of the nature of her, er, attack on him," Bill grimaced.

"Well come on, hippie," Fred said, getting slightly impatient.

"Spit it out!" agreed George.

"Well, believe it or not," Bill began, rubbing the back of his neck, "it turns out that Hermione, er, well … Hermione's apparently a Veela. A full-blooded one to boot."

He was met with silence.

"Well, Ron being Ron must have pissed her off," Bill continued, slightly unnerved by the out-of-character quietness of his younger, usually much louder brothers. "And it was her first day of being a Veela and that's a really dangerous time for them, Fleur says, and, well, Dumbledore wants her to stay with Fleur for a while so she can help with her transition, I s'pose, to being a, er, Veela," he finished, determined to wait for his brothers' reactions because he really didn't know what else to say about it. He was still having a hard time believing it himself.

There was another beat of silence before identical grins, equally as sly as the other, emerged on the faces of Fred and George.

"Reeeaaally now," began Fred.

"Now that's interesting," said George.

"I think she might need some friendly comfort right about this time, wouldn't you say, George?"

"I couldn't agree more with you, Fred. She's probably scared and feeling alone and in need of a good old friendly hug."

"Of course, we all know how Veela are. If she decides she needs another type of comfort, there's nothing wrong with that either, is there?"

"Not at all. We'd just be doing our duty as good friends, wouldn't we, Fred?"

"Absolutely, George, absolutely. Bill," Fred said, turning to him and ignoring the way Bill was slowly shaking his head, "thanks for coming to us with this matter."

"We'll be sure to act on it right away," agreed George.

"She'll be staying with Fleur, you say?" Fred continued.

"Well, we've always been fans of Fleur's cooking."

"Yeah, Bill. You've never invited us over for dinner often enough."

"Now would be a perfect time to start, wouldn't you say?"

"Absolutely perfect. We'll get to catch up with our favourite bookworm and see how she's going."

"Right you are, Fred, right you are. So when is she coming over?"

"We need some warning to prepare," finished Fred.

Bill had the powerful urge to bang his head against their counter. He settled for rolling his eyes and frowning at them instead.

"It's not safe for anyone to really be around her for the moment, boys; that's the truth of it," he told them.

Both twins then rolled their eyes at him.

"Come on, Bill –"

"Give a man a break."

"Only when he earns it," he said. "So I can stay here, anyway? It'll just be for a few weeks. Fleur says that Hermione should be okay enough to have more people around after then."

"Or what happens?" Fred chuckled mischievously.

"Will she succumb to her Veela urges?" grinned George, both men waggling their eyebrows suggestively.

Bill rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a half-smile at their teasing.

"Something like that," he indulged them.

"But we're Gryffindors!" George blurted out, puffing his bare chest out proudly.

"We can brave the dark, perverted affairs of Veela!" Fred agreed, posing the same.

"You know, all that defamation associated with Veela; they're not actually like that," Bill said dryly, watching in great amusement as his brothers' chests deflated.

"Ruin it for a man, will you?" grumbled George, sipping his coffee again.

"But there's got to be some truth to it, right?" demanded Fred eagerly.

"Besides, I think we're forgetting the very important fact that very soon, Bill will get to live with two Veela, all alone, in his tiny little apartment," George interrupted Bill who'd opened his mouth to speak.

"You lucky bastard. Can we come sleepover?" winked Fred.

"You know, I don't remember you two being this perverted when I was living with you," Bill told them dryly, crossing his arms over his chest and levelling them with a look.

They gave him cheeky grins, then, wiggling their heads from side to side.

"Things change, big brother," said Fred.

"We hit puberty," continued George.

"Merlin help me living with you two for the next few weeks," Bill muttered, ignoring the way both younger men actually giggled to each other, putting their heads together to begin whatever prank he knew they'd pull on him first.

Bill wondered what he'd prefer to face: the twins and their pranks or a freshly turned Veela. He couldn't really decide for sure. Both gave him fearful quakes.

* * *

Harry woke up slowly, curling further into his pillow as the sun attempted to pull him further from slumber. The sounds of his dorm mates getting up and ready for the day irritated him to no end. Granted, Friday mornings were usually lethargic in the Gryffindor boys' room, being the day before the weekend, but he'd been up late in the Infirmary last night with Ron and after everything was feeling more tired than usual. He'd been kicked out before curfew, of course, but he'd then spent many hours huddled in a corner of the Common Room discussing the latest turn of events with Ginny. At the thought of Ginny a tiny smile pulled up the corners of his mouth and the warmth and comfort he felt snuggled in his bed only added to the pleasant thoughts of her. Before he knew it, however, he was getting shaken roughly aware by Seamus and told he had five minutes to get down to breakfast or he'd miss out.

Harry groaned into his pillow but pushed himself up. His perpetually messy hair was even more of a mess as he sat there, bleary-eyed until he could reach for his glasses. He sighed slightly to himself as he sat in bed, his sheets curled around him, and blankly watched the other boys putting on their shoes and putting their books into their bags.

"Come on, Harry, you don't want to be late for breakfast," encouraged Neville, smiling encouragingly at his friend and kindly laying out Harry's scattered textbooks on the bed for him to easily reach in what they both knew was going to be a mad rush to breakfast any minute now.

Harry grunted at him but managed a small smile of gratitude and swung his legs over the bed. Neville walked off and suddenly Harry's vision was cleared to see Ron's empty bed. He knew that Ron was cleared to go back to classes today but he still frowned at the sight of the empty bed. His thoughts drifted to Hermione then and wondered how her talk with Dumbledore and the other woman had gone. He'd tried to stay in the Infirmary as long as he could and even loitered outside before being scolded and sent off by the matron, but he hadn't seen her again last night. He had intended to return to the dormitory to retrieve his Invisibility Cloak and return to Ron's side when Ginny had successfully engaged him in conversation. Still; Harry sighed as he wondered what was going to happen to them next.

Whatever it was, it didn't seem to bode well if the expressions on the adults were anything to go by.

* * *

Fleur muttered to herself in French as she walked out of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, a scowl on her face. Yes, she'd taken the job to improve her English. The appointment had been made even more pleasant when she'd realised the attractive redhead from the Tri-Wizard Tournament family gathering of Champions had been working there – the man who was now her fiancé – but Fleur couldn't help the frustration she felt when dealing with those goblins. It was not her fault that Professor Dumbledore had asked her to come to Hogwarts. She had agreed, of course, but it required leaving work early. The goblins had taken every pain to make sure she felt as though she was now deeply in their debt for letting her leave early. Such was the nature of goblins, of course, but it still wound her up that they could possibly be so rude. She couldn't even use the charm she'd inherited from her maternal grandmother to make her life at Gringotts easier, either; goblins were immune to the effect of Veela.

The beautiful young woman walked determinedly down the stairs of the bank before apparating directly away to outside the gates of Hogwarts. Now she had to wait for someone to let her in and with her day going the way it was, Fleur was not in a mood to be patient. It had started out wonderfully, of course, with kisses and affection and the promise of a very pleasant night to come; even Dumbledore popping in and requesting that favour of her couldn't spoil her day. She had been surprised, to say the least, that Hermione was in fact a Veela, but she had been admittedly excited at the thought of sharing time with the honorary Weasley. All the way to work she'd begun planning the next month and the approach she would take with the former brunette. Of course, Fleur was delighted there was someone else like her around. Despite being three-quarters human she still felt out of place amongst wizards sometimes. It was not something she would admit to anyone, especially not Bill, but she'd felt very out of place when she'd gone to spend time with his family, too. She knew his mother didn't like her; the woman wasn't subtle in the least. Fleur loved Bill very much and only wanted his family to be happy, too, so she'd gone out of her way to do everything she could to make herself useful.

Unfortunately, she'd been relieved when her week in their household had come to an end and the feeling had been obviously mutual.

The knowledge saddened her greatly, knowing Bill's own mother didn't accept her. Nor did his sister. She was also not oblivious to the mean nickname they'd given her – Phlegm. It had hurt her heart in more ways than one, but now she had a chance. She knew that Hermione hadn't liked her either, despite how reserved the girl had tried to be about it; Fleur had known though, and been a Tri-Wizard Champion for a reason – she was very smart. Nevertheless, now she had a chance. If she could just get one of the Weasley women to like her, even if she was only an honorary one, then it could pave the way for the others to open up to her, as well. Suddenly her day didn't seem so bad anymore as she stood there thinking about the future. Hermione needed her help and she would do everything she could to assist her. She didn't personally know what it was like going through the change, being only part-Veela herself and born with her Veela traits, but she had full-blooded cousins who had been through the change and sated her curiosity when she'd asked them about it. Additionally, Dumbledore had chosen to trust her with this mission.

Fleur nodded resolutely to herself as she stood before the gates of Hogwarts, wherein her new roommate and hopeful friend and ally resided. She would succeed and prove she was more than just a pretty face. She would prove she could make Bill proud.

* * *

New chapter, yay! Thanks again for those reviews, everyone. I love being able to create a sense of community around my stories and I hope you get that feeling too. I will always reply to your reviews and you are more than welcome to reply back! Plus, the more I talk, the more I reveal about my story. Some of you are well aware of that by now, you lucky people, you, getting those spoilers.

Anyway, I hope this was worth the wait! (And what did I tell you reviewers, eh? It's up today!) Especially because we got shirtless Weasley twins in there. Oh yeah, I know you loved that.


End file.
